


Hurricane Drunk

by scrapbullet



Series: Born To [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Drabble, Dubious Consent, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:56:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2590856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard chokes on the thickening odour of intertwining pheromones, and, loathing himself utterly, lets the fire consume him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurricane Drunk

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Hurricane Drunk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2857130) by [suirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suirin/pseuds/suirin)



It is under the light of the stars that Bard feels it; a hollow in the very pit of his belly that throbs in time to the quickening beat of his heart. It is an ache that he has felt only twice before; once under the influence of drug-laced Dorwinion wine, bitter beneath the palatable sweetness, and again from smelling a wondrous scent on the air itself, a scent that drew Bard onward into Thranduil's private chambers and thus, onto his knees. 

No, Bard is no stranger to this, to feeling such base desire. Instinct demands he proffer himself on all fours before his _lover_ , to arch his back and _present_ like a whore, legs spread to better reveal the burgeoning _-unnatural, his mind screams, sick and unholy and perverted_ \- slickness. It is instinct that forces Bard to wander beyond the safety of his rooms in search of relief, yes, but it is _fear_ that has him hiding in the shadows like a thief.

 _Gods, yes, he is afraid._ He has not _stopped_ feeling thus, not since the moment his belly swelled with life- with his dear, sweet Sigrid.

Two Elves stand guard at the door to the Kings receiving room, their stances stoic yet relaxed. By now Bard knows that the smell of him - _the pheromones that his body exudes in Heat_ \- is enough to force others to do his bidding... though not enough as to aid in escape. They, Silvan Elves and haughty, looking down their noses even as they _want_ -

_(and doesn't that just make Bard sick to his stomach, to know that their want walks hand-in-hand with their utter disdain of him and his children)_

-but it is still easy to slip by them, for he, the King's child-bearing mate, is to always be allowed admittance when his Heat begins to bloom.

Thranduil lounges upon a chaise, the silken folds of his robes parted to brush along the floor. It is a sight that hits Bard like an arrow to the chest and he stutters, flesh aflame. It doesn't matter; he need not speak. Thranduil knows, _he always knows_ , and although the fear and hatred for him burns on and on Bard cannot stop himself from falling to his knees. Burying his face into Thranduil's lap he shivers, and the long, dextrous fingers that card through his hair are soothing.

"How long have you been burning for me, hmm?" Thranduil inquires, so frustratingly nonchalant as he draws Bard up, peppering kisses along a stubbled jaw. Quick hands unlace Bard's breeches and slip inside, seeking out the slick entrance to press inside, twisting and scissoring in such a way that leaves Bard keening wordlessly, losing himself in the delicious, delirious haze.

Thranduil sighs, and only the high flush on his cheeks discloses his growing desire. "My mate is stubborn, and so brings himself such _pain_."

Rocking back onto clever fingers Bard bares his teeth in a primal snarl. 

Unlacing his breeches to reveal his turgid length Thranduil veritably purrs, mouthing at a fading scar on the cusp of neck and shoulder. " _Darling_... let me ease your suffering."

 _I hate you_ , Bard wants to say, wants to circle his hands around Thranduil's throat and _squeeze_ -

_(wants to force himself down on Thranduil's cock and take and take and take until the vacant hole within him has been filled, wants to be able to breathe again without choking, without having to close his eyes and push away traitorous thoughts of supple thighs and strong hands)_

-but simply _cannot_ , and so his body cleaves to the intruder with an ease that is bittersweet, the bite that follows a familiar, searing pain.

"Let me love you," Thranduil says, no, _demands_ , breathless with blood on his lips, bright and red, staining his teeth. His hands grasp Bard's hips with the surety of a thousand dalliances, easing Bard into a steady rise-and-fall.

Bard chokes on the thickening odour of intertwining pheromones, and, loathing himself utterly, lets the fire consume him.


End file.
